


The Principal's Aide

by ritchieaa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because werewolves, Depression, Dry Humping, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Sex, Graphic Violence, Like LOTS of angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Gore, More Pairings to Come - Freeform, Multi, Original Character(s), Pack Dynamics, Puppy Piles, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slash, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, The Hunt, Triggers, casual nudity, m/m - Freeform, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritchieaa/pseuds/ritchieaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Avery was just a simple student He got decent grades, had a normal family life, helped out at school as an office aide. He was basically so normal that he blended into the background. But it wasn't enough. He was incredibly lonely. But he puts on a happy smile and pretends like nothing is wrong when he feels like everything is. So when Scott and Stiles ask for his help in finding a missing Lydia Martin, he wasn't expecting to be dragged into such a different world. Maybe even a better world than the one he lives in now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Principal's Aide

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is loosely based on the Teen Wolf Facebook game, “The Hunt”. It's where you play as a principal's aide and everybody on the show can't keep a secret to save their lives. Like, at all.
> 
> Anyway, this will basically start off with that plot but veer from it from there. It'll start around the time Lydia went missing because that's where The Hunt begins.
> 
> I'm not sure where I'll go with relationships yet. Input is always nice, by the way.

Some people believe that, sometimes, when you meet somebody new, there is an instant connection. And no, I'm not talking about sexual attraction or love. No, some believe it goes much deeper than that. It's a draw; a pull. It's a bond.

 

And it will last for the rest of your life.

 

Do I believe in it? I didn't use to. I never came across anybody that I felt that with. But I do believe that all of that changed on a very specific day.

 

The day Lydia Martin went missing.

 

* * *

 

 

7:05.

 

Every weekday, I have to wake up at 7:05. Not 7:00, not 7:15—7:05. It is the perfect amount of time for me to get ready, leave, and arrive at school by 7:30. Not that I need the alarm, anyway. I don't remember the last time I slept for more than a few hours at a time.

 

So when it does go off, I just turn it off, let out an audible groan and shove the fleece blanket off of myself, releasing any of the warmth and comfort I already had for the rush of cool air that makes me just a little bit more awake than before.

 

The same routine every single morning—wake up, get dressed, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, put deodorant on, put cologne on, drive to school. And I know that after I get dressed and actually _exit_ my room, both of my parents will have already left.

 

My mom wakes up at five o' clock every day to open up the hardware store that she owns by 6 AM sharp. It's a little different for my dad—he's a real estate agent who is always pretty popular in demand since he's known to be great at his job. He's usually at an appointment with a few potential buyers before I'm even out out of bed and have underwear on. Although, I hear them leave every morning; they just don't know that part.

 

After sluggishly putting on whatever clothes seemed decent to me, I went through the rest of my team and walked out the front door, backpack slung over my shoulder with my left hand trying to find the alarm on my key ring to unlock the doors to my car.

 

It wasn't much but it wasn't a piece of junk, either. Nothing that really stuck out; just a white SUV that my dad handed down to me after he upgraded to some flashy convertible that was, undoubtedly, an extension of his own “masculinity”.

 

An old water bottle was sitting in my cup holder and I hadn't drank anything yet. so I polished that off before adjusting the rear view mirror. I caught my own reflection in it; the same dark brown hair styled up and the same olive-colored eyes I've always been used to. But there was something else staring back at me and I knew exactly what it was—tiredness. I'm tired.

 

I was fighting a losing battle.

 

I quickly shook it off and started the car, which started up the radio to my favorite alternative station. I looked over at the digital clock.

 

7:20. I was right on schedule.

 

* * *

 

 

As a principal's aide of Beacon Hills High School, I usually got a couple of special privileges.

 

Choice parking was not one of them. Luckily, getting here early to do whatever job Principal Thorne wanted had for me left me with a few good spots.

 

The school already had a lot of students eating their breakfasts or just socializing somewhere on campus. Some had practice for whatever sport they played and others just liked to get here early to study.

 

“Good morning, Ryan.” Principal Thomas' secretary, Molly, greeted as I walked through the office. She was a plump woman who was always very kind and was incredibly pretty—wavy chestnut hair with just the right amount of makeup.

 

“Hey, Molly.” It wasn't much but that's usually how it went; nothing more, nothing less.

 

I put my backpack off to the side as I got to work on the attendance sheets, making sure that every student noted to be absent today was marked down as excused. Problem was that they were never in alphabetical order.

 

Like here—David Weiss followed by Jennifer Durlough and then Lydia Martin.

 

Lydia Martin. That's weird, she never misses school. She's at the top of our class. Not that she wants anybody to really know that. She likes to let people think she's not all that smart but she's probably the most intelligent person you'll ever meet. Popularity for stupidity—that's usually how the school hierarchy works. And she was just smart enough to figure it out.

 

But her being absent must mean something serious. I hope she's okay.

 

“Did you like the decorations for the Spring Formal? I heard they were nice.” Molly called from her desk, half rotated to face me but still focusing on the paperwork in front of her.

 

“I didn't go.” It's true. Why go when I didn't have anybody to go with or anybody to just hang around with, commenting on how stupid the whole thing was, even though I didn't mind the concept of dances.

 

“Oh. Well, I'm sure you had other plans.” In what alternate universe? “You should try going next time.” Her voice was lowered with disappointment but it still kept its kind tone as she went back to whatever she was doing. But going next time probably won't be on the agenda. Or going to the one after that. Just never. No point in going if you don't have anyone to have fun with.

 

The bell rang at eight, so I finished up and said my goodbye to Molly and that I would see her during my free period.

 

Walking outside, the hallway was crowded, flooding with multiple conversations on all types of subjects. But I usually drown all of it out and go straight to my locker, . You learn to do that when nobody really cares to include you. It's not that nobody notices you walking by—it's just that you might as well be the paint on the walls or a bleak poster on a bulletin board. You're there but you're just part of the background.

 

“Hey!” A hand clasped my shoulder, making me jump about ten feet in the air. This never happens.

 

I turn around and Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski are looking at me. Like, not through me or to anybody behind me but actually at me. In fact, when I turn around, Stiles is still retracting his hand from my shoulder. “Didn't you hear us calling you?”

 

“Sorry. I...umm...no, I didn't...” Okay, shut up. Give me a second to comprehend that I'm not as invisible as I thought I was. “So...err...you—um, yeah?” Brilliant.

 

“I'm Scott and this is Sti--”

 

“I _know_ who you guys are...” Okay, that came out harsh. Wow, my communication skills need a bit of polishing. And with the apologetic and confused looks I was getting from the two, I'm guessing that's an understatement. “Sorry, that...umm...it didn't come out right. I just...you guys are on the lacrosse team. Everybody knows you.” Lacrosse was like royalty at Beacon Hills. But if you could only make second-string, it had practically the opposite effect. They both used to play second-string but that changed earlier this semester when Scott, like, trained really hard or something and got a spot on the actual team. Stiles—not so much.

 

“Right, right. But, like, are we famous or just _infamous_?” Stiles asked, followed by a swift jab at his shoulder from his best friend. “Ow!”

 

“You're...Brian, right?” Ouch. Okay, so I was used to the idea that I was basically nobody but when nobody knows your name and for you to actually hear that first-hand is a bit different. Especially from somebody in your class that you've known since you were kids.

 

“Close. Ryan.” I said with a smile. I hoped that I didn't sound hurt. In fact, I'm sure I didn't. I've gotten pretty good at hiding how I feel.

 

“Right, sorry.” He looked genuinely apologetic, so I let it go. Truth be told, I would have let it go, anyway. I forgive pretty easily. Although, ask me if it was a good thing or a bad thing and I wouldn't be able to have a clear answer for you. “Okay, we kind of need your help.”

 

Stiles chimed in, a bit frantically. “Lydia Martin went missing from the hospital last night.”

 

_What?_

 

“Wait, what?? She was in the hospital?! What happened??” My mind was going a million miles a minute. What the hell happened to her? How do you even escape a hospital? Is she okay? Did somebody take h--

 

“She was physically attacked Friday night.” The Spring Formal. “It happened on the lacrosse field and we just...”

 

“We need you to delete the security camera footage from that night.” Stiles interjected, finishing up for Scott. He licked his lips nervously, knowing how that might have sounded. Wait...how _did_ that sound?

 

“Did—were _you_ guys the ones that...?” Disgust and shock was actually evident in my voice, I knew that. But God, I hope it wasn't true. Scott got pretty built since lacrosse started and he could do some damage, especially to somebody as dainty as Lydia. I mean, as ferocious as she is, I'm not sure she could even remotely defend herself like that. And Stiles...well, he could have had a weapon!

 

“What? _No_! No, no, no, no no no! It's just--”

 

“Ryan, we need you to trust us.” Should I even believe Scott? I mean, I don't even know the guy that well. Same goes for Stiles. “Can you do that?”

 

I had to think about it. I looked at them, trying to see if I could find a way to tell if they were telling the truth or not. I'm not sure but I think I can actually trust them. But I realized that it didn't matter what I believed. Somebody was missing. I couldn't just leave it. I need to know what is on those tapes; if it's evidence of something bigger, something I would need to make sure gets to the police. I mean, Stiles is the sheriff's son but with hard evidence like camera footage, I think it could help. But that's only _if_ they did something to Lydia, and considering Stiles is known to be practically in love with her, I'm not sure that he would have done it.

 

“I'll help.” A wave of relief fell over the two of them, Stiles dramatically running his hands through his short brown hair, letting out an exaggerated sigh and Scott wearing a goofy grin on his face. “But the office where the footage is, that's not going to even be accessible unless I steal the key from Thorne. It needs to be after school; that's when he plays security guard and makes sure everybody leaves without any fights breaking out.”

 

After an understanding nod from the both of them, Stiles clapped a hand on my shoulder once again and looked me straight in the eyes, his hazel meeting my green. “Thank you, Ryan. It really _does_ mean a lot...” I couldn't really find the right way to say you're welcome because how do you do that when you're just doing something because it's the right thing to do?

 

Wait, how is that? I'm going to be breaking-and-entering and doing something highly illegal. Jesus fucking Christ, what am I even _thinking_?

 

* * *

 

 

The final bell rings and everybody picks up their things and leaves as quickly as possibly, nobody wanting to be here any longer than they have to.

 

I quickly make my way to the main office, hoping that I catch Principal Thorne in time. My left bicep was itching, and not in a good way. I was getting anxious. Too anxious. But I have to pull it together. I have to go through with the plan.

 

Luckily, I made it just in time to see Principal Thorne locking up his personal office. “Principal Thomas!” He turned to me, his eyes crinkling as he gave me a kind smile.

 

“Hello, Ryan. Do you need something? I was just about to--”

 

“Umm yeah, actually. I kind of need a favor.” He looked wary, but I continued on, anyway, making myself sound rushed and out of breath. “I totally spaced on my history paper and forgot to print it out last night. Well, I mean, I printed it out but I needed to make copies for my group. You see, it's a group paper and they need my work so that we could work together and get a good grade on it.” Principal Thomas gestured with his hand to slow down, chuckling a little. “Right, sorry. Umm...could I use the copy machine in the print room, by any chance?”

 

He sighed tiredly, glancing toward the school entrance. “Well, Ryan, I was just about to go--”

 

“No, I know. Just really quick. I promise I'll give your key right back.” I hoped that the “student with a passion for good grades” face I was giving him would convince him.

 

“Okay, okay. But make it quick.” He said that last part with an authoritative glance up at me from where he was looking, which were his set of keys. What I knew about his set of keys was that he used a crappy key ring that his second grade daughter made him in class out of a neon orange pipe cleaner. It was misshapen and it wasn't hard for keys to unwind themselves from it. That was a mistake, Principal Thorne.

 

“Oh, is it that one?” I rushed out, making it seem like I was completely jittery. I mean, I was, but not for this. I reached out really quickly, intentionally missing any specific key and the set of keys clattered to the floor. Some came completely off while others managed to hang in there. “Oh, God—I'm such a spaz! I'm so sorry.”

 

He cursed silently to himself before glancing at his wristwatch for the time. I knew exactly.

 

“I know that you like to go...prevent injustices or whatever, and this is _completely_ my fault and _I_ will clean this up for you and give them back to you once I'm done printing, okay?” I didn't even give him a chance to answer properly before I bent down and starting gathering the scattered keys.

 

I looked up and saw that he was trying to decide if he could trust me, but I've been his trusted assistant for almost an entire school year—it was in the bag.

 

“Alright, Ryan. Just get your copies and come straight to me, okay?” Nodding while looking embarrassed? Sure, that works. He sighed once more, heavier than the last, and hesitantly started walking to the front of the school.

 

Finally able to actually see all of the keys, I found the one labeled 'Security'.

 

Nice.

 

The security room was across the school, so I had to be quick. The hallways were already starting to empty out, so slipping in unnoticed was pretty simple, especially when you have the social status equivalent to a speck of dust.

 

The room was small but there were multiple screens displayed from different points of campus. It was easy to point out which camera was where.

 

The main computer was toward the back wall, holding the entire database of this year's footage. God, this is _so_ illegal...

 

I clicked through folders before I found the right camera and the right date. Skipping throughout the day, everything was at 100x the original speed. But then there she was.

 

Lydia Martin.

 

She was standing in the middle of the lacrosse field in a white dress, obviously just coming out from the gym where the Spring Formal was being held. Then, the lights came on, one by one. Oh, God. There's a guy in a leather jacket and he's walking toward her. No, not walking.

 

Stalking.

 

His face shifts into something so menacing, his sharp teeth baring from a jaw that seemed unnaturally big, extending. And he bites into her side, crimson surfacing to her pearl white dresss.

 

I look away, unable to stand seeing her scream out in pain. So it wasn't Stiles and Scott, after all. My eyes are closed, my breathing uneasy. I'm trying to pull myself together, I really am.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

My eyes flutter open, hoping that I might just wake up in the middle of class. But no, I'm still here, facing the multiple camera angles of the school.

 

Crap, speaking of camera angles, Principal Thomas seems to be getting impatient. He glances at his watch, shaking his head a little before determinedly putting one foot in front of the other. _Shit_. He's going to the print room.

 

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_!!” I do my best to rush through deleting that snippet of footage and what comes after it. Stiles is there, seemingly pleading to whoever attacked Lydia. I have to ask later, there's no time to look through that right now.

 

There. It's gone.

 

I grab the set of keys and snatch up my backpack from the floor and quickly lock-up the door, sprinting toward the right hallway where the principal was bound to go to. Wait, no. I won't make it.

 

I head in the opposite direction, toward the front of the school. I know that if I can make it look like I was looking for him, just missing him before he decided to come looking for me, it would be fine.

 

And there he was. “Principal Thomas! I was wondering where you went!” I said, hiding how out of breath I really was. “Here they are, good as new.” He looked at me, unsure if he made the right decision, before taking the keys. He smiled politely, wavering a bit, before walking past me and toward the front of the school once again.

 

I let out an exasperated breath, closing my eyes. But when I did, I just saw that... _man_ biting into Lydia. I just...I don't even know how to even _try_ to understand what that was. I have to ask them. They have to know, they asked me to delete everything from that night.

 

I think I might know where Scott lives. I just hope he's home.

 

I walk toward the parking lot, passing Principal Thomas on my way, and I see Stiles' jeep parked a few spots from my car. Fine, since I'm not 100% sure where Scott lives, I can play the waiting game. Stiles should be out soon.

 

* * *

 

 

Four. Fucking. Thirty. The parking lot is completely empty except for my SUV, Stiles' jeep, and a few cars belonging to the faculty that are so unlucky that they had to stay this long. That's when Stiles rushes out of school, trying to stuff stray papers into his bag. He looks up from it, meeting my gaze. He knows that I know.

 

“You saw him, didn't you?”

 

“Stiles, wha—? Of course, I saw him! I had to edit out the damn footage!” I'm not usually one to jump like that but I just had to wait over an hour for him to get out. Detention doesn't even last that long!

 

“Okay, okay. Just...come with me. Scott should be the one to explain everything to you.” He opened the door to his blue jeep and tossed his backpack in the back, along with his lacrosse stick and gym bag.

 

“Scott? Why him?” The confusion must be pretty noticeable in my voice but that doesn't make Stiles decide to explain anything to me. He just leans over the seats of his car and opens the passenger side door for me to get in. I hesitate, but only for a second. I think I was quick to decide to get in because I know I can trust them now. They didn't hurt Lydia; somebody else did.

 

The car ride to wherever the hell we were going was silent, so to speak, which was saying a lot when Stiles was involved. I know that for me, I had way too many questions on my mind and if I ended up asking them, I would be shot down and told to wait for Scott. I'm guessing that he just didn't want to say anything he shouldn't because he had the radio up and just ended up singing really loudly and drumming his hands on the steering wheel to the beat. He looked over at me every once in a while, noting that while I didn't mind his...whatever the hell he was doing, I wasn't in the mood to join him. And he seemed fine with that because he just continued on for the next few songs until he parked in middle of nowhere.

 

“Are you going to kill me now?” I joked, leaning my head into my propped up palm and slightly looking over.

 

Stiles smirked slightly before replying. “Wow, you have jokes. But no, in all seriousness, that comes later. It's way too bright out to keep things under wraps.”

 

“I promise that I usually have a better sense of humor to keep this going, but not right now. Where's Scott?”

 

“He's at Kate Argent's funeral to support Allison, well, _sneaking around_ at her funeral in order to support Allison. And we're going to sneak right along with him” Right. We were close to the town cemetery.

 

Kate Argent was Allison Argent's aunt. Kate died over the weekend, accused of being crazy and all of that. I don't know the full story, I just heard a little bit about it when it was on the news and my dad was watching. It was big news, especially for a town like Beacon Hills.

 

Allison was Scott's girlfriend, so it made sense that he was here. And it also made sense that Stiles was there. But not so much why I would be.

 

“Stiles, I don't know. I just...I don't want to invade on such a private thing. I mean, I'm sure that there are already going to be a bunch of unwelcome reporters surrounding the place. It just seems wrong for me to be there.” I explained, hoping that he wouldn't have me go, anyway. “I think I'm just going to wait here for you guys to get back.”

 

“Alright. I get that. Once we get back, we'll explain everything; I promise.” It was sincere. He looked me in the eyes and I knew he was. He wanted to fill me in, I know he did. I'm just not sure if it's because he has to or because he wants to. I mean, from what I can tell, he's a good person, so I'm sure that not explaining this to me after helping him out was quickly wearing on him.

 

It was only about twenty minutes later that both Stiles and Scott come barreling toward the jeep, obviously trying to leave as soon as possible. I quickly scoot myself to the middle seat so that Scott can get into the passenger side as cleanly as possible.

 

“Okay, what the hell? Why are you two gunning to get out of here so fast?”

 

“We have a new lead on Lydia.” Scott mentioned as Stiles started his jeep. If we had parked on concrete, I'm almost positive we would have skidded across, leaving tire marks in our wake.

 

“Alright, that's good. What'd you guys find out?”

 

“Gorified ambulance. We think she could have possible done that. Which brings us to an _actual_ explanation to what you saw today...Scott, why don't you take it from here, buddy?”

 

With a death glare sent across me and at Stiles, Scott let out a sigh that he probably wasn't aware he needed to let out. “Okay, Ryan. What you saw--”

 

“Scott's a wolf. Well, werewolf. He can run really fast and he's strong; not Hulk strong, but stronger than your average bear. And what you saw? Lydia was bitten by Peter Hale, another werewolf. So chances are that she's all grrr now and unable to control her Mr. Hyde, if you catch my drift.”

 

“Wait, no—what? Just... _what_??” Is that what I saw—a werewolf? How is that even possible? I mean, it has to be. But if I didn't see one bite Lydia in her side, I wouldn't even believe it for a second. I would think that Scott and Stiles were bouncing off shrooms, or that I was dreaming, or...

 

Wait, what was that last one? Yeah, that's gotta be it. I'm dreaming.

 

“What the hell, I don't even read Twilight! Why is this even part of my subconscious? Jesus fucking Christ. And Stiles! You're probably not a werewolf, so that probably makes you a vampire. You probably sparkle, don't you? God, you probably do...”

 

“Wha—no! Ryan, we're serious!” Stiles responded, flailing his arms slightly as he said so. “Scott is a werewolf and Lydia is probably one, too.”

 

“Ryan, look!” Scott demanded from next me. I turn my head towards him and he's looking down at his hand...which now had _claws_?!? I jumped slightly, actual evidence in front of me versus something I wasn't even there for. It was staring me in the face.

 

Werewolves.

 

Are.

 

Real.

 

“Ryan? Buddy? You okay there?” Stiles asked after all of the excitement had died down and we just sat in silence for a few pregnant moments.

 

With a slight nod, I just spoke whatever seemed to fall out of my mouth. “Yeah, just...wolves—“

 

“Werewolves.” Scott corrected, looking worried as I continued on.

 

“...Werewolves. They...exist. And...well...Jesus, I...yeah, okay.” I had questions but I'm way too exasperated to even begin to even start asking them.

 

“You're...you're good, then? Like, you get it, right?” Stiles asked as he continued driving us to wherever that crime scene was. Wait, when did it get dark. Okay, maybe we were quiet for longer than a few moments... “Because we're kind of heading out soon and we need you to not be the boy who cried wolf.”

 

“I'm...fine...I just—I'll ask questions some other time yeah?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Whatever you want to ask. We owe you at least that much.” Scott replied, resting a kind touch on my arm for a couple of seconds, his hand no longer in serious need of a nail filer.

 

“We're here.” Stiles announced as he parked his jeep, turning off the engine and putting his car keys into his pocket. Much like earlier, we were nowhere particularly recognizable. In front of us were dense woods, leaves strewn all over the ground, almost acting like a carpet for what lay underneath.

 

“Umm..here is where?” Just because I knew we were near some woods doesn't mean that I could pull a Siri and am able to tell you where we are.

 

“We have to sneak through the woods to get there unnoticed.” They both proceeded to open their doors and get out, Scott holding his open for me to follow. Reluctantly, I did.

 

“You guys sneak around a lot, don't you?”

 

They both looked thoughtful about it before answering me at the same time with a consensus of 'Basically, yeah.'

 

Everything was illuminated from the moon, so it was pretty easy to see. We walked for about five minutes before we saw the red lights from the back of the ambulance, its doors wide open.

 

Scott and Stiles hid against the wall of a dirt ditch, me following suit shortly after understanding why, still not really used to any of this.

 

“What the hell is Lydia doing?” Stiles asked rhetorically to no one in particular, his voice quiet as not to alert the cops still investigating the medical vehicle. The inside, there was blood everywhere. And a man. No, not a man. A body. I felt queasy thinking about it but I kept it together. “What kept you from doing that? Was it Allison?”

 

“I hope so...” Scott looked on at the graphic scene while Stiles shook his head, not really able to believe what we was seeing. Neither could I. Lydia did this? Is that what werewolves can do? But I guess you don't always have full control, if I'm understanding that correctly.

 

“Do you need to get closer?” Stiles asked his friend. Scott fluttered his eyes closed and inhaled slightly. Right. Lycanthropy comes with wolf senses. I guess that makes sense why we're even here; Scott needs her scent to find her. He shook his head before starting to get up from his spot.

 

Stiles grasped Scott's jacket, slightly tugging at him to come back down. “Just...I just need you to find her. All right? Please, just...just find her...” Stiles sounded desperate. He didn't want her back safe and sound—he _needed_ it. He needed her to be okay.

 

“I will.” Scott promised, keeping his gaze on Stiles before looking back at me for a quick second and getting back up again. Off he went in search for Lydia, the missing werewolf.

 

A new police car pulled up—it was the sheriff. Also known as Sheriff Stilinski. “Come on, my dad probably knows more on what happened.” He got up and offered his hand to me. I took and he hoisted onto my feet, both of us patting ourselves of any muck or leaves that clung to us before walking toward the sheriff.

 

“Stiles.” He didn't sound at all surprised to find him there. But one look at me and his lack of confusion went straight to hell. “And...?”

 

“Oh, umm..Ryan...sir...Ryan Avery...” I introduced myself, an hand outstretched, waiting to be shaken. He accepted it with a stern look on his face. I can tell that he's given that look to his son plenty of times before, and probably to Scott, too.

 

“Avery...your mom's name is Claire, right? She owns that hardware store on Berk?”

 

“That would be her, yeah.” Okay, he's not as bad as he seems. Probably just finds it weird that Stiles is snooping around with anybody other than Scott. He just nods slightly before putting his attention back to his son.

 

“So, what _do_ you know?”

 

“What do you mean, what do I know? I know this! That's all!” While his speech seemed spazzy, he actually seemed pretty down to earth at the moment. I couldn't see anything that would indicate he was lying. But his dad didn't seem to buy it, but he accepted it with a heavy sigh, as if to say, 'I don't believe you but I know you're not going to say much else'.

 

“You're not supposed to be here, Stiles. And neither should you, Ryan.”

 

“Look, I know we're not but what if this had to do with...” Stiles looked off, over the shoulder of his father. I tracked his gaze and saw her, too. “...Lydia?”

 

She was shivering from her complete lack of clothing, her cream colored skin looking paler in the light of the moon. Her strawberry blonde hair draped messily, foliage seemingly clinging to it, over her chest where her arms were as she shook from the cold, a white hospital tag hanging from her wrist. Lydia's eyes were shimmering from tears that were meant to fall but were held in. She looked petrified.

 

“Lydia?!” Stiles called again, his volume increasing with both astonishment and worry. She wasn't responding. She just continued to stand there, shivering against the harsh winds. “Lydia!” That got her attention.

 

She whipped her head toward the voice, her demeanor changing almost instantly. “Well...” she called “isn't anybody gonna get me a coat?”

 

Stiles attempted to take off his father's coat as he nodded fervently, only to stumble over himself and fall to the ground with a crackle from the dry leaves underneath his weight.

 

“Seriously? Jesus...Yeah, here you go, Lydia—take mine.” I offered as I took off my teal and stone gray striped pullover. I helped her into it as she just kept her gaze with me. Luckily, it was a little long on her, so it went to the top of her thigh, covering her up enough so that Stiles wouldn't have an aneurysm.

 

“Thanks.” I nodded, acknowledging her gratitude. “Who are you?” she asked with a tad bit of ferocity. No, that wasn't the right word. It was tenacity. Lydia was trying to keep it together, trying to go back to who she was, to how the world saw her.

 

“Doesn't matter...” I shook my head before walking with her over to Sheriff Stilinski and a bumbling Stiles.

 

“Lydia, as you probably already know, we have quite a few questions to ask you.”

 

Stiles stuck around long enough to make sure Lydia was safe. And by “stuck around” I mean that he overstayed his welcome and was demanded to leave by the sheriff. And since I kind of came with him, off I went, also.

 

“So Lydia is safe and sound, now.” My voice was slightly interrupted by the sound of us closing the doors to the jeep.

 

“Yeah, so it seems.” Stiles replied as he put his seat belt on and started the car, the engine building a slow rumble as we sat here idly with it running. “But if she did that to the guy we saw back there, it shan't be long before she won't be.”

 

“...Shan't?” I chuckled lightly before wrapping my own seat belt across my torso and clicking it into place.

 

“Oh, shut it. That is _so_ a word!” he exclaimed, his arms flying in every which place before he put the jeep into drive, beginning our way back. “8 o' clock. The school parking lot is probably closed.”

 

“Oh, crap! I forgot!”

 

“How did you even forget about your own car?!” I looked over at him incredulously, actually staring at him in disbelief. He glanced over and took a double-take. “...What?”

 

“'How did I forget about my car?' Because _werewolves_ , Stiles! Because werewolves!”

 

“Oh, right...Well, where do you live? I'll drop you off tonight and take you tomorrow morning so you don't have to catch a bus or walk or anything.”

 

“Yeah, that should be fine, I guess. They don't tow them, right?” He shook his head as an answer before letting out a small laugh.

* * *

 

 

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” I said as I started to get out of the car. I was stopped, however, by the driver himself.

 

“Here, give me your phone and I'll give you mine. Exchange numbers and all that, in case you need us, we need you—whatever. Or you know, if you have any questions or anything like that.” I nodded and put my number into his and he put both his and Scott's on mine, taking a quick picture of himself first to put as his caller ID.

 

“See ya, buddy. Bright and early!” Stiles dismissed before driving off in, what I assume to be, the direction of his house. I sighed to myself before walking up my driveway and into my home.

 

I was greeted with the smell of food. From what I could tell, something heavy on the garlic, just how I liked it. “Mom, I'm home!”

 

“Ryan! Where have you been? We've been worried!” My mom said as she rushed over to me in her green button-up and carpenter-style blue jeans.

 

“Sorry, I was out. With friends.” That was my usual excuse for whenever I didn't want to be home. It got too lonely just sitting in my room by myself, so I usually just stayed at the public library until the sun went down.

 

“Oh, okay. Just call next time!” she reprimanded before walking back toward the kitchen. “I made pesto linguine with garlic bread, if you're hungry.”

 

“No, thanks. I already ate.” I don't eat much these days. One or two meals every few days. I'm just never hungry.

 

“Alright, sweetie. Do you have homework?” She was already putting my serving into some tupperware for me to heat up whenever I get hungry. I usually just feed it to the dog or throw it out, saying I loved whatever it was. Nobody needs to know that I don't eat anymore.

 

“Yeah, I'm about to get on that right now.” I called as I climbed the steps to the second floor where my room was. “Where's dad?” I ask, stopping about three quarters of the way up to wait for a response.

 

“One of his potential buyers wanted to look at a house. Said they couldn't make it any earlier because of their job and commute.” I just nodded to myself, knowing it was typical for him to be working this late.

 

I should probably shower first before I get started on homework. I'm sure I smell like dirt and moss.

 

I take my shirt off and in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, I'm instantly greeted with the unhappy sight of the scars bore into my left bicep. Some of them still an angry red, others just a dull slash. God, just looking at them made me want to add to it.

 

No, not tonight. Bigger things to worry about. I can't; not tonight. Not tonight.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

Breathe. 1, 2, 3.

 

A few more times and I still didn't feel better, but I had more opportunities to push it down. I made my way to my shower, hoping to take my mind off of it. Although, who am I kidding—the pain is always there.

 

The hot shower left a film of steam against the mirror. I didn't even wipe it down; I didn't want to go through what I just did ten minutes ago. I got dressed into a pair of black sweats and a thin, white henley that clung to my body. It was too warm inside for it, but I at least needed to walk back to my room without my scars visible.

 

As soon as I got in, I took everything back off and grabbed my backpack, taking out my math homework that was scheduled to be turned in tomorrow.

 

A couple minutes into a ridiculous problem about a 35 gallon tank and 4.5 gallon bucket, I heard a beep. What the hell was that? My laptop? No, that's off. I looked over at my phone and the screen was lit up. My phone? Has to be Stiles, right? But why would he text me? Does he need something?

 

I slid to unlock my phone and his face popped up with a play button in the middle of the screen.

 

“Hey, it's Stiles. I mean, duh, obviously. Anyway, I'm just checking in to make sure you're okay. I know that this werewolf stuff can be a lot to take in. Alright, well, let's be honest—it's _totally freakin' crazy_.”Still a huge understatement, if I've ever heard one. “I know _I_ lost my mind more than once when Scott was just a little werepup and started shifting into The Wolfman. But you do get used to—the constant danger, you know? Always having to look over your shoulder, impending full moons that you dread. You never _really_ get used to it, but you learn to live with it. Okay? Well, that's that. Any questions, just text me or Scott. Although, just between you and me, I do all the research, so you should just probably come to me. Don't tell him I said that, though—he bites. See you tomorrow, bro.”

 

I didn't notice I had a huge grin on my face until after I sat there, staring at my screen for a few seconds after the video message was over. Stiles was checking up on me. He cares.

 

It's just...I have a friend. I would even go far to say I have two! But why? Why would they even want to be friends with me? I mean, I can't be worth it.

 

I shook my head and saved the video before replying back to Stiles with a quick thanks and then got back to that fucking math problem. Ugh, I'm going to have to take out my calculator, dammit.

 

My phone chimed once more. “No problem. Night, dude.”

 

“Night.” I sighed to myself, laying back against my bed. They probably just pity me. That has to be it. Why else take the time to talk to me?

 

Whatever. I think I'm fine with that. Just talking and being around them makes me a bit happier, a bit more stable. I'll take what I can get until they realize that I'm nothing special.

 

Tomorrow's another day.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Hopefully nobody was OOC or anything like that. Let me know what you guys thought!


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